


Indulgences

by sparxwrites



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Boners, Burping, Button Popping, Consensual Kink, Exhibitionism, F/M, Feeder/Feedee, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Food Kink, Gluttony, Hedonism, Hiccups, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Stuffing, Teasing, Verbal Humiliation, Weight Gain, mild Dom/Sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 08:14:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27347977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: Post-adventuring, Percy puts on some weight and indulges in some new kinks - with the generous help of his wife and his friends...
Relationships: POLYMACHINA - Relationship, Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Grog Strongjaw, Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Keyleth, Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Pike Trickfoot, Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Scanlan Shorthalt, Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Vex'ahlia
Comments: 16
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i would like to apologise to god, the fandom, and the entirety of the cr cast.

“Vex!” called Percy, huffing as he tugged futilely at the fastenings on his trousers, trying to get them to close. “Dear, I think you must have put out the wrong clothes for me. Some of my _old_ clothes.”

The two years since the defeat of Vecna had been kind to Percy. It had been kind to all of the scattered members of Vox Machina, honestly, a welcome respite from the frantic adventuring life, but it had been _especially_ kind to Percy. Retiring back to Whitestone with Vex’ahlia – with time and space to work on his own pet tinkering projects, and with no responsibilities more onerous than advising Cassandra and entertaining visiting dignitaries – had lifted a weight off his shoulders he hadn’t known he was carrying. It had let him really, truly _relax_ , for the first time in years.

He had, as Vex teasingly put it, _gone soft_.

The de Rolo men had always had something of a predisposition towards heaviness, a certain weight around the middle. That much was evident from even a cursory glance at any of the surviving portraits around Whitestone castle. Even during the peak of his adventuring, Percy had never exactly been _toned_. He’d been more inclined to muscle around the arms and shoulders, a result of his smithing, than the lithe physiques that, say, the twins had sported.

Post-adventuring still included plenty of smithing, but little _running_ , and plenty of rich, endless banquets and feasts and dinners to entertain… not to mention the divine food Vex’s kitchen staff created three times a day without fail. 

It was only natural that Percy, in indulging himself, had also indulged his waistline, until he was carrying the kind of soft paunch that befitted both a de Rolo and a noble of his station.

It hadn’t been an issue in most respects – far from it, in fact, given Vex’s unconcealed adoration of her new, chubbier husband. Her subsequent delight, when she’d found him more than willing to play some little _games_ with her, had in fact only helped with his expanding, softening waist. 

His modest gains had, however, necessitated a handful of trips to the tailor over the past few years. This particular garment, it was clear from Percy’s failure to button it closed over his soft gut, was _not_ from one of the more recent trips. 

“Nonsense, darling,” called Vex, sticking her head around the door to peer at him. “I do everything exactly as I intend to, always. You _know_ this.” She entered the room proper, crossing the space between them to stand with hands on her hips and consider the man before her with a critical eye.

“But, Vex–” Percy gestured helplessly to his own hips, to his belly escaping through the V of the trouser fastenings and his affectionately-named _love handles_ spilling out over the tight stretch of the waistline. “I know dinner was a little heavy last night, but not _this_ heavy. These must be from, what, a year ago? More?”

Vex held up a single finger in warning. “I _said_ , nonsense, darling.” She kissed his temple, and then his lips. “Get dressed – the others will be here soon, and it’s _terribly_ uncouth for a host to be late to his own party.”

Hands lax on the waist of his trousers, Percy eyed his wife with a combination of great suspicion. “What do you have planned?” he asked, arching an eyebrow at her as he tugged absently at the two edges of fabric in his hands.

“Get dressed,” repeated Vex, winking, and patting his ass – squeezed into old trousers rather too small for it – before sashaying out the room to continue getting ready herself.

Percy sighed.

Trying to tug the trousers closed didn’t work, and neither did sucking his gut in, or jumping up and down. They were simply _too small_ to button over his new, generous paunch, and the realisation sent a slight thrill through him as he considered the conundrum at hand.

In the end, settling the trousers low on his hips, below the line of his belly, was the only way to get them done up. Even then, they were tight, clinging to his soft thighs in a way they definitely hadn’t done when he _used_ to wear them, leaving a doughy muffin top bulging over the waistband at the hips – and a definite roll of belly hanging over the front. He couldn’t help but grope at it, humming satisfaction at the softness, at the way the trousers defined the heavy spill of his gut.

His shirt, thankfully, had a little more give than the trousers and, though it was pulled tight enough to cling to the soft swell of his belly and the curves at his hips, it buttoned with little issue. He tucked it into his trousers and then, after a moment’s consideration, retrieved a belt from his closet – not to keep the trousers up, exactly, but more in the hopes that it would assist the struggling buttons in keeping them fastened. Would, perhaps, keep his shirt tucked in, despite the tug of his extra paunch threatening to pull it free with every movement.

Last was the waistcoat, a heavy-duty thing of navy wool and embroidery thread that Percy was _sure_ came straight from his adventuring days. He eyed it with trepidation, wondering _again_ what game his wonderful wife was playing this time. 

He was sure the thing wouldn’t fit.

In the end, it did – but only with a little huffing and puffing, and Percy sucking his gut in until it _ached_ and his stomach muscles trembled whilst he buttoned the damned thing up. When he relaxed, exhaling, his stomach surged outwards until it pressed tight against the thick fabric, straining at the buttons and seams. He felt like a sausage in a skin, squeezed into clothes too small to contain his new pudge.

“Gods,” he muttered, patting fussily at the curve of his stomach, tugging on his sleeves, smoothing down imagined creases in the stretched-taut fabric of his too-tight clothes. “ _You’ve_ let yourself go a bit, de Rolo.”

There was no bite in his voice, though; perhaps even a slight note of guilty, prideful pleasure, if one knew to listen for it. When he looked in the mirror, he couldn’t help but admire himself, turning this way and that to examine himself from every angle. Dressed like this, he looked every inch the noble he was – a straight back, a haughty look in his eye, and expensive clothes just a little too small, strained by the soft weight that inevitably came with a life of idle nobility.

Satisfied – and more than a little anticipatory – Percy tugged on his cleanest pair of boots, and headed downstairs to await the arrival of Vox Machina with his wife.


	2. Chapter 2

It was nice seeing everyone, reflected Percy, eyeing his friends round the table as they sat chatting to one another, joking, catching up between mouthfuls of food. They didn’t often see each other like this any more, in one big group, but when they did it was always an _event_ – a pleasant celebration that went on for several days before they all had to slink back off to their jobs and responsibilities.

No one had said anything about _his_ rather _obvious_ changes, though, despite the attire that rather obviously drew attention to it. No doubt it was politeness that had kept them from commenting – though it hadn’t stopped them from _looking_ , when they thought he wouldn’t notice. He’d caught every one of them staring, out the corner of his eye, during lulls in the conversation as they waited for the food to be ready. Caught their gazes evaluating him from head to food, sizing him up, lingering on the curve of his belly, the swell of his thighs, the tight pull of fabric over his skin.

It had been enough to make him flush, nearly, and more than enough to make sure the back of his neck was prickling constantly with a steady sort of heat. He couldn’t tell whether it was embarrassment, or pleasure, or a twisted mix of the two. But it had certainly _affected_ him, to a degree that surprised him, to have his friends _stare_ so.

He was beginning to wonder if, perhaps, that was part of whatever game Vex was playing with him, putting him in these clothes. The question was whether that was the entirety of the game, some light humiliation, or whether there was more to come…

Absent-minded from his thoughts, he barely noticed how quickly he was eating, methodically clearing his plate forkful by efficient forkful. He only stopped when it was scraped clean, when there was nothing left to eat – and he was left to stare mournfully at his empty plate, and at the full table of food in front of him, and consider the prospect of spending the rest of lunch exercising _self restraint_ whilst the others gradually caught up and finished their food too.

It was a depressing sort of prospect, despite the presence of his friends.

But he really _shouldn’t_ have second helpings, Percy decided, licking his lips regretfully. His clothes were tight enough as it was, and it wouldn’t do to seem greedy in front of his friends, and–

“You had enough there, Percy?” asked Scanlan, raising an eyebrow at Percy’s hand where it was gently resting against the front of his belly. The waistcoat that had been a little too tight when he first put it on was now straining a little; definitively, visibly _too tight_ with the weight of a decent meal behind it.

“Ah?” asked Percy, distracted, eyes focusing on Scanlan after a moment of wrestling his attention back from staring into space. The heaviness of a good meal was often enough to make him a little sleepy, a little dazed, and the unconscious rub of his own fingers across the top of his stomach was undoubtedly helping with his distraction. That was always his favourite part of the games he and Vex played, her hands on his stomach, moving in slow, soothing circles… 

“Oh, yes, the food. Quite delicious, isn’t it? Though I’m–” He looked, a little guiltily, down at his own protruding stomach, and then up to the face of his old friend, trying to hide his embarrassment. It was only a mild act of gluttony, finishing a slightly-too-large plate of food slightly-too-fast, but no doubt it was evident to the others now where his new gut had come from. His own shameful greediness and lack of control were clearly to blame, his weight and too-tight clothes thrown into sharp relief by the speed of his consumption. “–I’m sure one helping will be more than enough for me,” he finished, a little mournfully.

Underneath the hand resting on his rounded belly, his stomach gurgled, traitorous and barely-satiated.

Pike smacked Scanlan on the arm when he opened his mouth to reply, no doubt with another snarky comment – though her eyes were gleaming in a way that made Percy _squirm_. It reminded him of the look Vex got in her eye during banquets sometimes. “Scanlan Shorthalt! Don’t be rude to our host. It’s his house, and his lunch, he can have as much as he wants.”

“Oh well, in _that_ case.” Scanlan was smirking now, having caught sight of the look in Pike’s eye. He raised a hand, signalling one of the ephemeral unseen servants who had been serving the food. “Do keep Lord de Rolo’s plate full, wouldn’t you? He’s feeling particularly peckish today, apparently. Wouldn’t want him getting _hungry_.”

Wincing a little, Percy waved a hand dismissively in Scanlan’s direction. “No, no,” he said, faintly embarrassed to have such a fuss emerging over him during what was _supposed_ to be a nice, peaceful reunion lunch. “It’s quite alright, really, you don’t have to– ” 

“No, no, I inist!” said Scanlan, with a wave of his hand. “Pike’s quite right, I was _terribly_ rude. This is the least I can do to make it up to you.”

It was hard, given this was _Scanlan_ , to not feel at least a little bit like he was being mocked – or at least toyed with, somehow. But Percy’s plate was already magically full again, courtesy of the unseen servant now apparently at his service. His stomach growled again, spurred on by the heady smell of rich meats and fresh bread and sauces, and it was easier to let it go. Easier to pick up his knife and fork once more, and dig into the food on his plate again, settling back into casual conversation with his friends as he continued to fill his belly.

He was, after all, still so _very_ far from full.

With his plate constantly getting refilled, it was easy to just… keep eating. The food was delicious, the company good, the conversation interesting. Percy talked, joked with his friends, listened to their stories about what they’d been up to since they’d last all seen one another – and all the while, he kept eating, not quite but mechanically but certainly automatically, fork from plate to mouth to plate again. He barely even noticed that his plate never seemed to fully empty, that there was always another mouthful to swallow.

The fact the food was delicious helped, too. Perfectly-cooked beef, strips of soft bacon, fresh-baked and fragrant bread, winter vegetable soup, caramelized carrots, salted greens, an assortment of cheeses, mashed potatoes drizzled with thick, rich gravy; it wasn’t hard to just keep eating, and eating, from his magically never-ending plate. 

Good food had always slipped down easily for him, after all.

It wasn’t until a sudden, sharp ache in the side of his belly brought him to an abrupt halt in his eating that he really, truly was forced to take stock of the damage.

His waistcoat, which had previously been straining, was now near tearing at the seams. The stitching at the edges was steadily, visibly loosening under the pressure of his overstuffed gut. Though the buttons were doing a valiant job of keeping the waistcoat closed, they were struggling, evidenced by the large gaps between them where his white shirt peeked through. Though harder to see, the shirt didn’t seem to be doing much better; already snug over Percy’s new layer of soft paunch, it was stretched tight and restrictive over the swollen-full globe his belly had bulged into under the weight of the food he’d consumed.

Percy groaned softly, eyelids fluttering, and patted the protruding mound of his belly. The loud belch it shocked out of him cut across the absent chatter around the table, and suddenly all eyes were on him.

“Oof,” he mumbled, awkwardly, resting his hands on top of his belly and offering a slightly embarrassed smile to his silent friends. “Pardon me. I do apologise.”

“…Gods, Percy.” Scanlan was, unsurprisingly, the first one to break the silence. “You’re still not done?”

Percy flushed pink, as his stomach grumbled its disagreement with Scanlan’s suggestion – he was full, certainly, but if there was room for the food to shift and settle, then there was room for him to pack just another morsel or two into his straining gut. “Ah, well– mmh, just the rest of this plate, perhaps, and then…” He sighed pensively, eyeing the food still laid out on platters across the table. It seemed such a _shame_ to let it go to waste, really, even though he _was_ starting to feel uncomfortably full. “Well. Just the rest of this plate.”

“And that’s plate number…?” prodded Vex, unable to sound quite as casual as she was aiming for. She’d been keeping a half-eye on Percy as he ate, but between the distraction of chatting with everyone else and the way Percy’s plate subtly filled itself up, she’d lost track.

She’d lost track of Percy’s waistline, too, and the shock of seeing him bulging at the seams had her pressing her thighs together beneath the table. 

“Ah… mmh, fourth helpings, I think.” Percy picked his knife and fork up again, neatly cutting himself a corner of the roast beef on his plate, washing it down with a long drink of ale from his tankard. “It’s hard to keep track, with Scanlan’s damned servant-thing filling my plate every time I glance away. Call him off, would you, Scanlan? I’m just about full, I think.” 

Across the table, Keyleth didn’t quite manage to muffle her quiet squeak – of surprise, or something else, it wasn’t clear, but there was a definite edge of pink to her cheeks as she watched Percy determinedly tuck into the remains of the vegetables and mashed potato on his plate.

Instead of doing as he was asked, Scanlan watched, grinning, as an unseen servant yet again filled up Percy’s plate. Three more thick slices of beef, six rashers of bacon, two chunks of bread slathered with butter, and the free space filled with vegetables and heavy, creamy mashed potato – the whole thing drizzled with a generous helping of gravy, just to top it off.

“Oops,” said Scanlan, in a voice which suggested this was very much _not_ an oops, before snapping his fingers to call the servant off.

“ _Scanlan_ ,” chided Keyleth, “that was mean! Now he has to _eat_ all that…” She eyed Percy, and then the pile of food on his plate, and then the already straining bulge of his belly, as though debating whether there was even physically room for that much food left inside him.

Her eyes on him, dragging up and down his body, lingering on the obscene swell of his stomach, did nothing to ease the prickling heat at the nape of his neck that was spreading slowly down his spine.

Grog snorted. “Well, he doesn’t _have_ to.”

“Grog!” chided Pike, from her seat beside Percy. “You _know_ we don’t just waste food, that’s very ungrateful. You should _always_ eat what’s on your plate. Isn’t that right, Percy?”

Percy huffed, swallowing hard, eyeing the plate before him. “Well,” he said slowly, with an air of great deliberation, as though he wasn’t already reaching for his fork. “I suppose, yes, just- just as Pike said. It would be _rude_ not to…” 

He still hesitated, though, eyes sliding sideways to look at Vex, to check. _Is this the game we’re playing?_ he said, without words, without anything more than the slightest quirk of one eyebrow. _Is this okay?_

Only at her tiny nod, at the faint flush high on her cheekbones that he knew _oh so well_ , did he settle himself more comfortably into his high-backed chair and pick up his fork. After a moment, and another few pats for his grumbling belly, he picked up his knife, too, and tucked in to his new plate of food.

It was a struggle, even for his impressive appetite, honed over the past few years of banquets and indulgence. Usually he paced himself, picked lighter foods towards the end of his marathon – but with Scanlan’s servant filling the plates and he himself simply mindlessly eating them, he’d had no control over what he’d packed into his stomach. As a result, he was full of rich meat, heavy potatoes and bread, thick and creamy sauces… with yet more sitting on his plate, waiting to be consumed.

However, Percy was _not_ one to back down from a challenge. As conversation gradually started again around him, light and distracted by everyone continually sneaking unsubtle glances at him, he tucked in. 

Meat first, the beef and bacon, reasoning it was best to get the heaviest out of the way first – his stomach was _aching_ by the time he finished with those, straining against his waistcoat and gurgling in protest at the rich, juicy meat. Then the mash and vegetables at once, forkfuls piled high with creamy, fluffy potato and salted, buttery greens, huge mouthfuls that had his throat working furiously as he swallowed them down. He had slowed considerably from the pace he’d eaten his first plateful at, and as he approached the end of _this_ plate he slowed even more, pausing between each mouthful to breathe, massage his complaining stomach into submission before another bite.

On top of the food, he was making his way through the weak ale in his cup at an impressive rate, trying to wash down the heavy food with comparably lighter drink. It took up space he should have been saving for food, sloshing uncomfortably atop the packed-in roast – but he needed _something_ to clean his palate before he forced down yet more enormous forkfuls of potato and broccoli into his taut, swollen stomach.

He made it almost to an empty plate before the first casualty of the evening.

His waistcoat, which had been practically _groaning_ at the seams for the past few mouthfuls, stitching stretched as far as it could go without snapping, finally broke. Not at the sides, though – instead, the buttons gave, one after the other down the front of his glutted, swollen belly as they simply couldn’t take the strain.

The sound of the three buttons pinging free to skip across the floor wasn’t all that loud, but Percy’s sudden _groan_ of relief certainly was, and once again the table fell silent as all heads turned in his direction.

As it turned out, the waistcoat had rather been taking the brunt of keeping his stuffed, bulging stomach contained. Without it, his belly had surged forward another several inches, sagging down into his lap under its own weight. 

He looked pregnant, _beyond_ pregnant – though no one would mistake him as such, with the roll of chub at his hips, the way the top of his enormous gut was stuffed solid but the lower section stayed soft, pudgy. His belly bumped into the table in front of him, the edge pressing ever so slightly into the bloated globe resting heavily on his thighs, heaving with every strained breath to press a little more tightly before receding.

His shirt alone was no longer quite enough to entirely cover him and his extra bulk. Ovals of pinked skin showed between the buttons. More pale, straining flesh was on display elsewhere, between the waist of his trousers and the hem of his untucked shirt. There was a thick strip of skin visible between thigh and fabric, the flesh there soft in comparison to the rest of the stuffed tautness of the rest of it. The sagging roll of muffin top was pressed against his trousers by the weight of everything else, the skin smooth and faintly pinked from the weight of the food he’d consumed.

“Just in time!” said Vex, brightly, after the last _clink_ of button against stone had gone quiet. Percy’s cheeks were pink, too, though whether from embarrassment or overindulgence – or both, or something else entirely – was anyone’s guess. “We do still have dessert on the way, after all. You’ll have more room without that silly thing on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this physically/biologically realistic? no. do i care?? also no!


	3. Chapter 3

“ _Dessert_ ,” repeated Percy, with a groan – though one hand was already occupied with using the last piece of bread to mop up the drippings of gravy on his plate, and the other gently rubbing the side of his enormous belly, finally freed from its confinement. “Really? Dear, I don’t think I could eat another bite…”

“Hey!” objected Grog, “S’not our fault you got all greedy before dessert. _Some_ of us are still hungry.”

Percy groaned again, faintly, as he managed to force the last piece of bread down his throat and into his bulging stomach. He felt like a Winter’s Crest fowl already, stuffed to bursting point and somehow _beyond_ , more food packed tightly inside him than he’d thought possible. And yet, _dessert_ …

He could feel his mouth watering at the mere thought of it – at the possibility of _more_ to cram into his protesting gut, rich chocolate and cream and sweets to bloat him even bigger, swell him further under the incredulous eyes of his friends.

“Ah, well. Yes. Quite, I suppose,” he mumbled, both hands now free and dedicated to massaging the taut globe of flesh and food resting on his lap. He couldn’t help but grope at the paunch that had spilled out from under his shirt, pinching and rubbing at it with his fingers even as his other hand soothed the gut straining at his struggling shirt. Underneath the heavy chub, his cock twitched, already hard enough to be leaking a wet spot into the front of his too-tight trousers. Grog was quite right, after all. It wasn’t _their_ fault that Percy could be such a helpless, unabashed glutton when he set his mind to it.

He had to admit, though, that their stares and encouragement and teasing was far from helping _curb_ his overindulgence. Quite the contrary, in fact.

“I’m sure you’ve got just a _little_ more space in that _big_ belly of yours, darling,” said Vex, sweetly, patting the top of his enormous, jutting stomach – squeezing her thighs together at the way Percy’s eyelids fluttered at her touch, belly heaving sluggishly beneath her hand as he stifled another rich belch. “For me? Hmm? I _did_ ask the kitchen to make your favourite, after all…”

“Mmm.” Percy sighed, eyes half-shut as he luxuriated in his wife’s warm hand massaging the top of his over-warm belly. The gentle circles melted some of the strain and aching away, and he licked his lips without thinking, wetting them shiny with his greed. “Well, for _you_ , dear…”

Vex patted his belly once again, sighing in delight at the stuffed solidity of it, and stood up. “Wonderful!” she said. “I’ll go fetch dessert, then. Scanlan, darling, could you lend me that invisible servant of yours? We may need two carts for all the plates, I suspect…”

“You okay there, Percy?” asked Pike, softly, as Vex left the room with the unseen servant to retrieve dessert and Percy pressed fingertips into his swollen gut with a low groan. “Is your tummy hurting? You did have an _awful_ lot there, I’m very impressed.”

“Ah.” Percy felt his cheeks flush a little, his cock twitch, and pressed his fingers a little deeper into the soft flesh of his gut as he rubbed to distract himself. His waistband was digging in something awful to the underside of his belly, and he was sure the buttons of his shirt were pressing angry circles into his skin, but it would be _quite_ improper to mention any of that. 

“It’s not- _hic-_ not too bad, thank you, Pike,” he settled for, instead, barely swallowing a second hiccup and feeling his swollen belly shudder beneath his hands. “Just a little full, that’s all.”

Pike smiled understandingly at him, though her eyes were dancing. “I’ll say.” She reached out a hand, rested it gently on top of his tummy, fingers unerringly finding a patch of bare skin between buttons. It was warm to the touch, a little pink, strained by the sheer amount of food packed beneath it, and Pike sighed. “You must have been really hungry, huh? Although…” She pressed down with her fingers a little, testing the firmness of his belly, ignoring the hitching string of burps the pressure forced out of him, his soft groan of pleasurable discomfort. “Still feels like you’ve got plenty of room in there for dessert.”

Flushing, Percy tipped his head back to avoid having to look Pike in the eye. “Well, we’ll… we’ll see I suppose,” he demurred, though his tongue darted out to wet his lips again. “Vex _did_ say they’d made my favourite, so I’ll have to, ah, fit it in _somehow_.”

Quite how, though, he wasn’t sure. He felt fit to burst, bigger than he ever had been before, decadent and luxurious and _stuffed_. He wanted nothing more than a nap, right now, to sleep off the massive amount of food he’d packed into his poor gut.

“I’m sure you can manage it,” said Pike, encouragingly, still rubbing his belly. The soft prickle he associated with her healing magic bled through his shirt, and he was grateful for the way it seemed to settle his tummy a little. The churning and cramping had been quite uncomfortable. “You’ve done _so_ well with the main course. I can’t _wait_ to see how you handle dessert.”

“Mm, well,” managed Percy, modestly, though he flushed at the compliments – and at the thought of Pike’s eyes on him during his further gluttony.

Anything else he was going to say, however, was curtailed by the re-arrival of Vex, accompanied by a truly enormous chocolate cake, and a jug of cream. Percy groaned. She wasn’t wrong, this _was_ his favourite, but it was also an almost unbearably heavy and rich dessert even when he’d barely eaten during dinner. This full, he had no idea how he was going to manage even a single slice.

Scanlan seemed to have much the same idea. “Eyes too big for your boots, Percival?” he teased, eyes gleeful, barely containing his smile. “Or too big for your _belly_ , rather.”

It turned to a scowl a half-second later, when Keyleth smacked him on the arm. “Scanlan!” she chided. “Don’t be rude! He can have as much as he wants.” Something about the way her eyes lingered disbelievingly, almost longingly, on the curve of his belly told Percy that what she _really_ meant was, _he should have as much as he can fit._

“Thank you, Keyleth,” he said, as primly as he could manage given his current state of dishevelment, and picked up his spoon. This time, emboldened by his friends’ responses to his gluttony, he didn’t bother to hold back his moans of appreciation for the fine food as he took bite after bite of dense, rich cake and sweet, thick icing. 

Without the waistcoat to help, the real-time effects of his gluttony was even more apparent. His stomach swelled with each bite, shirt riding up higher to expose more pink-pale skin; the soft, distinct rolls of chub became less distinct as his belly expanded, stretching, becoming rounder and more taut; his buttons strained further with every swallow, every shallow inhale. It was almost _meditative_ , eating when he was this full – despite the undeniable arousal of it, Percy felt his eyelids slip half-closed, eating almost mechanically, focused only on the burst of rich, sweet sugar-chocolate on his tongue and the heavy slide of each mouthful down his throat. It was decadent, hedonistic, _heavenly_ , sprawled in his chair with his belly resting heavy on his thighs, glutting himself on chocolate and cream.

And of course, as with the main course, he was the first to finish.

This was rather more impressive, however, given the truly incredible amount he’d already eaten. But Vex was correct – chocolate cake _was_ his favourite, and with the help of Pike’s soothing hands to settle his belly between courses, it was only a little effort to plough through the thick slice that had been set before him.

He didn’t miss the way that Keyleth, especially, couldn’t keep her eyes off him and his heaving gut as he licked the last of the chocolate frosting from his fork and then from his lips.

“Delicious,” declared Percival, stifling a rich, moist burp with the back of his hand and patting his stomach in an attempt to steady its restarted grumbling and churning. The heavy sweetness of the cake had unsettled it, a little, and he could feel a string of hiccups building that he did his best to swallow down. “Absolutely divine, Vex, thank you. You spoil me.”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it, darling,” said Vex, just a little breathlessly. She reached out a hand to touch his belly, and he hummed contentedly at the faint warmth and pressure, shifting in his chair – had its arms always felt so close, so constricting? – to find a more comfortable position to lounge. Her touch, as always, felt _heavenly_ , sweet relief on an overstuffed stomach as she stroked gentle, almost _teasing_ circles on his poor stomach. “…Though, actually, I’m feeling a little full. Since you enjoyed your slice so much, I don’t suppose you’d want mine?”

She was pushing it over to him before she’d even finished speaking, leaving him in little doubt as to how much choice he had in the matter. 

Vex wanted to watch her gluttonous husband gorge himself on chocolate cake, and he was going to oblige her in the matter or face her disappointment. That much was _abundantly_ clear. 

“Oh- really?” Percy’s eyes widened a little. Vex was smirking – and also doing her best to look entirely innocent, which was quite a feat. Her fingers were pressing into his gut, just a little, and when he shifted in his too-small seat again they nudged a wet belch free from his churning gut. “In that case… if you’re- _urp_ , ungh, excuse me- if you’re sure…”

It was greedy, _beyond_ greedy, he knew that. But then, that _was_ rather the point of this whole exercise.

“I don’t think I can finish mine either, Percy,” chimed in Pike, pushing her hardly-touched cake over towards him, too, with a small quirk of her lips. It was swiftly followed by Keyleth’s half-eaten slice. Nearly half a cake was suddenly on the table in front of him, drenched in double cream to boot – and, no matter the fact that it was his favourite, he was _acutely_ aware of how full and taut his belly already was. 

Percy looked around the table, a hint of trepidation in his gaze as he took in his friends’ expectant faces.

“Don’t look at me,” said Scanlan, a little indignantly, when Percy stared at his half-eaten portion of cake. “This is _good_. You’re not getting mine, no matter how much I’m enjoying watching you gorge yourself stupid.”

“I’d give you mine, but I finished it,” added Grog, eyeing his own cleaned plate, and then the mostly-full ones set in front of Percy. “Well? Go on then. Get started.”

By the time he finished the last of the ‘leftover’ dessert, Percy was sweating, breath coming in hitching little sips around the weight of the food crammed all the way up to, it felt like, his lungs. If it wasn’t for the pile of empty plates scraped clean in front of him, it would have been easy to mistake him for _pregnant_ ; his bulging stomach was protruding out far enough that the table lip was digging into the swollen bulge. The chair itself wasn’t helping, though, either, the narrow seat and arms of it only emphasising how large his belly had gotten in comparison. It was big enough to rest in his lap, the weight of it dragging it down against his thick thighs and pushing them apart to droop between them, obscuring his belt and trouser laces – and his prominently hard cock.

It was the kind of taut, bulging gut one might be proud of after a lifetime of heavy drinking and fatty foods – a far cry from the soft paunch Percy had been flaunting when they’d first arrived, and an impressive achievement for a single afternoon of gluttony.

“Thank the _gods_ we’re done,” groaned Percy, apparently oblivious to the others’ stares. He licked a final smear of chocolate from his lower lip, hiccuping in a way that made his solid stomach shudder. He wedged a hand under his gut, into the tiny space between paunch and thighs, and jiggled it ever-so-slightly – ostensibly to help the food settle, but in reality because the pressure against his aching cock and the realisation of the _weight_ of his belly was heavenly. The way Keyleth’s eyes widened, pupils gone huge and dark, cheeks flushed, was just an added bonus. “I’m absolutely _stuffed_.”

He was gasping, even from that small motion, barely able to catch a breath with how _full_ he was. Even the prospect of shuffling his chair back a little to ease the pressure of the table edge against his paunch was unthinkable – he was simply stuck there, gut spilling out of the arms of the chair and over the table, shirt stretched over it like a second skin, panting and sweating and struggling to contain another belch jarred free of his stuffed and bloated stomach. He’d never felt so big in his entire life, never felt so obscenely, delightfully _greedy_ , and he couldn’t help moaning as he tried to shift in his chair unsuccessfully and realised he’d stuffed himself to a lazy borderline-immobility. 

“Not done yet,” interrupted Grog, before anyone else could find their words in the face of the utterly indulgent, luxurious, gluttonous picture before them. “What about the cream?”

“What about it?” asked Vex – but her eyes had already been drawn to the jug of cream, not yet empty, sat at the centre of the table and separate from the carnage of empty plates. At least a litre of sweet, creamy liquid was just _sitting_ there, all alone, and waiting to be consumed…

Percy, never one to back down from a challenge, tried to sit up a little straighter in his chair and failed. The weight of his belly pinned him against the back of it, and there simply wasn’t _space_ for it to compress any further between torso and table, already filling all available space and spilling out besides. “Oof. Gods, _uurp_ \- unf, okay then. Okay. Cream, and then… done.” 

In all honesty, he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to manage all of the cream, but if he _did_ then there certainly wouldn’t be space for anything else. He’d already surpassed what he’d previously assumed were his limits by a mile, and likely several clothing sizes.

He tried futilely to lean forward and reach for the jug, arm stretching across the table toward it, but was blocked by the sheer size of his own prodigious gut. Moving was a strain with the weight of it, and it was physically in the way as he attempted to bend at the waist, pressing into his thighs but refusing to give. Attempting to shuffle his chair closer, to stretch further, only pressed the table into the straining globe once again, digging in hard enough to draw a string of belly-shaking hiccups from him.

Eventually, after a minute of huffing and puffing, he was forced to slump, panting, back in his chair, now wedged _painfully_ tight between its back and the table’s edge. The wood dug a thick dent into his gut, his belly bulging out above and below it, stuffing him tightly between the high back and unyielding arms of his chair until his gut was forced to spill out of the tight space wherever it could find room. Stuffed, bloated, spilling out of his own chair, too full to even reach across the table for his next treat… he truly was the picture of gluttonous, noble vice.

His panting – as he slowly, laboriously worked his chair backwards to give himself enough space to breathe, enormous belly heaving with every effortful breath – echoed loudly in the silent room.

Keyleth whimpered, softly, one hand over her mouth and the other tucked somewhere beneath the table.

“I think,” he huffed, flushed red with the exertion and the humiliation of them all _staring_ , and all the more aroused because of it, “that, ah, mmf, I might need… _hic_ \- a little bit of a hand…” 

Pike was the one to retrieve the jug of cream from the table and hand it to him, in the end, apparently the first to recover her wits after Percy’s little display. The jug was still over half-full, and Percy’s stomach churned in protest as he stared at the cold, rich, _thick_ cream sloshing inside, trying to remind him that _it_ was _entirely_ full.

With a heavy sigh, and a careful rub of his solid, gurgling stomach with his free hand, Percy lifted the jug to his mouth.

He barely let himself breathe. He didn’t pull the jug away from his lips, because he knew if he did, he’d never manage to start drinking again. The cream was heavy, soothing against the inside of his mouth as he swallowed it in long gulps, and cold enough he could feel when it hit his full tummy.

For a moment, he was worried about cramps from the chill. After a heartbeat, though, his only concern was getting the rest of the cream inside him as quickly as possible. It felt heavenly, filling his already overfull belly just that little bit more, cramming just that little bit extra in around the sweet and savory courses he’d already gorged himself on.

Grog had been right, of course. It would have been a _terrible_ shame to let such a delicious treat go undrunk, even if his stomach was beginning to gurgle and bubble in earnest as it struggled to manage the thick, heavy liquid being poured into it.

By the time he lowered the jug of cream – now empty – to rest atop the distended mound of his glutted stomach, Percy had a dazed, absent sort of look in his eye that Vex was familiar with. It was the look of a man stuffed to contentment and absolute fullness; a brain gone slow and sleepy with the weight of a stomach full of heavy food to digest.

“Oh, darling, look at you,” she cooed, getting up to retrieve the cream jug from his unresisting hand and setting it on the table. “Have you overdone it again? Poor thing.” She patted the top of his bulging stomach gently. It solid, packed with food, and she bit her lip at the warmth she could feel radiating from the stretched skin even through the cotton of his shirt. She could hardly wait to get her hands on it, rub and knead at it gently until its rumbles and gurgles were eased and Percy was moaning contentment beneath her.

Percy made a small, sad sort of noise, hiccuping, and let out a muffled, wet burp as an almost alarmingly loud gurgle rippled through his stomach. He didn’t even _try_ to cover his mouth this time, hands occupied with rubbing at the creamy, swollen flesh spilling out the bottom of his shirt. How the buttons on it were still holding on, Vex had no idea. “Mmm. ‘M just… ooh. Oof. _Urp._ ”

He hiccuped again, and then swallowed hard, inhaling deeply against another rumble of his belly and a sudden twisting in his guts – and that, apparently, was the last straw for his abused shirt. 

The straining button right over his belly button popped open, and like a chain reaction so did the others, letting the pale paunch of his belly surge out onto his lap, sitting heavy on his thighs as the sheer weight of it dragged it down. The top section was, as Vex had felt, packed solid and pinked from the strain of the stuffing – but the paunch of the love handles around Percy’s hips was still soft. The inch or two of doughy flesh sagged out around the tight dig of his belt and the waistband of the too-small trousers he’d squeezed himself into. Every laboured inhale and exhale made the mound of his belly heave, made his belt creak, strained his girth against the wooden arms of his chair.

“I think,” said Keyleth, breathless, over Grog’s chuckling, “you might need some bigger shirts.” She looked at Vex, hesitantly, almost for permission. “Especially if– if you’re going to carry on being such a, a _glutton_.”

Percy _moaned_ at that, slipping hands under his gut to undo his belt and trousers, free the last constriction on his poor, aching belly. “Mm, nothing wrong with, _urp_ , with… appreciating a good meal,” he panted, struggling with the buckle and until it finally gave, groaning with relief as the sudden slackening of his waistband eased the band of pressure on his lower stomach. “And the rest is just… oof, _mmh_ , just puppy fat.”

Looking pleased, he patted his bulging gut gently, digging fingers into the taut skin strained across the surface of it to try and massage out a momentary cramp. Even ignoring that _slight_ stretching of the truth, there was going to be more than puppy fat on him after this afternoon was done and digested – he was fairly sure those trousers were never going to do up again, and the idea of having _eaten himself_ out of his clothing sent a lazy thrill through him.

It was almost, he thought idly, playing with a soft roll of chub at one hip, enough to make a man hungry again.

“ _Appreciating_?” asked Scanlan, one eyebrow raised, “Is that what they’re calling it now? Gods, you’ve eaten more than the rest of us _combined_ , Percival, I think that counts more as _gorging_.” He hopped up onto the table, crossing it in two long strides. Jumping to the ground again next to Percy, sprawled out in his chair, he poked at the prodigious stomach settled heavy in Percy’s lap. “ _Look_ at you.”

The prodding jarred a series of hiccuping belches out of Percival, each one shaking his swollen belly a little more until he was clutching at it and groaning from the ache, both hands rubbing at the sides of the rock-hard beach ball protruding from his middle in an attempt to stave off more discomfort. “Simply a, a, ohh…” He groaned, involuntarily, as a loud gurgle eased some of the pressure, digging his fingers into his bloated waistline to try and massage out the cramp. “Mmh. A healthy appetite, that’s all. It’s a noble’s prerogative, to eat well.”

The shifting and jiggling, however, had served to remind him of a… _secondary_ problem. He’d been hard for a while now, cock first twitching when Scanlan’s unseen servant had piled his plate high with second helpings – but it was secondary to the deep, aching pleasure of his stuffed stomach. 

And, if he was being honest with himself, secondary to the pleasure of his friends watching him, taunting him, spurring him on. The amazement on their faces, the way Keyleth’s eyes were locked onto his gut, Scanlan’s sharp, humiliating words… It all only increased his arousal, his cock straining against the front of his trousers and the warm underside of his heavy belly. 

Now, belly freed and trousers loosened, he couldn’t help but slip a hand under his stomach on the pretext of adjusting his clothes, and grope himself a little to try and ease _that_ pressure, too.

He thought he was being stealthy but, of course, his wife and her eagle eyes noticed. “Might I suggest,” said Vex, prompting every face to turn and look at her where she stood behind Percy’s chair, “that we, ah… _retire_ upstairs? For some light post-meal entertainment and, ahem, _digestion_.”

She reached over Percy’s shoulder and patted the top of his swollen stomach, coaxing a lazy moan and another belch from deep in his chest. His eyes were half-lidded, hazy, and she knew that for the next few hours he’d be delightfully sleepy and pliable – obedient to her every whim, provided it got his belly rubbed and didn’t involve moving.

“I think Lord de Rolo might need a little help _up_ the stairs,” pointed out Pike, voice light but eyes fixed on Percy sprawled fat and panting in his chair, legs spread wide to accommodate the bulging, near-spherical gut sagging down between them under its own weight. “He seems to have stuffed himself. Just a little.”

Percy moaned again at the taunting, digging his fingers in a little to his own sides. The pleasure of the softness of his puppy fat over his packed, straining, overfull stomach, and of Pike’s teasing words, was overwhelming.

“She’s not, mmh, wrong,” he agreed, huffing and puffing as he tried to lever himself out of his chair, struggling against his bulk. Sagging back down against the seat, he conceded defeat, flushed and panting, pinned down by the weight of his own greed. “And I… ahem. I, ah, _may_ need a _little_ help here…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a hypothetical fourth chapter here where the Sex Stuff happens but god only knows if i'll ever get round to writing that... hope yall enjoyed this terrible gratuitous idfic, even in the current absence of an orgy tho!

**Author's Note:**

> come find me @sparxwrites on tumblr or @sparxwriting on twitter for more high-quality content!! :3c


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